


The Vampire's Kiss, and Other Tales of Misfortune and Woe

by FourCatProductions



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Crack Treated Seriously, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, In a sense, Metafiction, Non-Consensual Romance Novels, Other, Sexual Humor, Skyrim Kink Meme, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:18:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions
Summary: "A book sat next to a half-empty goblet, bound with leather so dark red it was nearly black. Evita drew closer, curious. Embossed lettering shone on the front, illuminated by flame: The Vampire’s Kiss.She snorted."Or, the Dragonborn is going to find out who is writing romance novels under her name if it kills her (and it very well might).





	1. The Vampire's Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt from the Skyrim Kink Meme. There will be individual warnings for each chapter as needed.

Having a vampire as a roommate was… interesting. To say the least.

It wasn’t as messy as Evita had expected, for one. She’d envisioned a lot of bloodstained bedding and ripped clothes, maybe some bones strewn in the corners or skulls decorating the desk. But the corner of the basement Serana had claimed for her own remained pristine, furniture dusted and bed neatly made.

That was another thing – the bed. Apparently vampires could develop claustrophobia. Who knew?

Serana didn’t love the daytime, but she wasn’t a slave to the night, either. She drank tea when it was offered, took long walks whenever she felt like it, and pitched in with the wash. If it hadn’t been for the occasional dazed mortal Iona had to escort off the property, Evita might have forgotten that she was living with the undead altogether.

“Some of us kill for sport,” Serana had explained once, when pressed for details. “It’s a little messy for my tastes, though. Easier just to make them forget about it.” She’d smirked. “Besides, I’d have to leave if too many townspeople went missing, and I like it here.”

“Well,” Evita had said. “Aren’t you thoughtful.”

It was only supposed to be temporary. Serana had no desire to stay at Volkihar Keep with her ghosts, and the Dawnguard was even less welcoming. After everything, Evita figured that letting her stay was the least she could do until Serana found something suitable. But there weren’t many places in Skyrim for a centuries-old vampire to settle comfortably, and weeks turned into months, which bled into a full year. Iona hinted at her discomfort with the situation now and again, but Evita kept finding reasons not to address it. Serana would move on when the time was right, she told herself. There was no need to rush.

(She did give Iona a raise in her monthly stipend, though. The woman had a backbone of steel and the patience of a saint to put up with the both of them as long as she did.)

On this particular night, Serana was nowhere to be found, which wasn’t unusual; she and Evita both valued their privacy and spent plenty of time away from civilization, roaming the nearby woods. It was beautiful and balmy, a ripe summer evening with Masser and Secunda little more than slivers of gold against a velvet backdrop. She was probably out hunting away from Honeyside, for which Iona was no doubt grateful. _A considerate vampire,_ Evita thought as she stepped out back, onto the porch. _Now I really have seen everything._ She’d bought Honeyside for the porch. Thanks to her insomnia and Serana’s general aversion to sunlight, they’d spent many a night there, talking quietly while the waves of Lake Honrich lapped at the shore.

It was deserted, which she’d expected, but someone had been there not long before. A lit candle sat in the mouth of a wine bottle, wax dribbling down the sides to leave little spatters of white on the tabletop. A book sat next to a half-empty goblet, bound with leather so dark red it was nearly black. Evita drew closer, curious. Embossed lettering shone on the front, illuminated by flame: _The Vampire’s Kiss._

She snorted.

The snort grew into full-fledged, shoulder-shaking laughter. “Seriously?” she asked, between spurts of giggles. If this was what Serana considered literature, it was a damn good thing she’d ignored the vampire’s nagging about ‘culturing yourself’. _Time to see if this is as bad as it looks._ Still chuckling, she picked it up and flipped to a page at random.

_“She shouldn’t, she knew. It would be a violation of the trust that had been placed in her, and oh, how mightily her conscience struggled against the thrumming animal pulse of her vampiric nature._

_But she was so hungry, and blood unlike any other flowed through the veins in the Dragonborn’s slender neck.”_

Evita slammed the book shut. Her laughter had dried up abruptly, replaced by heart-pounding confusion. Had she been meant to find this? Serana wasn’t the type to play sick practical jokes. They were beneath her. But Iona was even less likely to have done it, and if neither of them were the culprit, who had? She looked around, as if the offending party might rise from the lake and confess, but no such admission was forthcoming. There was only the cooing of the whippoorwills, and her own blood thrumming in her ears. She looked at the cover again, more closely this time. _The Vampire’s Kiss_  stillglittered gold. Below it, in even smaller lettering, there was a name.

_E. Draconis._

“What the fuck,” she said aloud. And then, because that didn’t seem to cover it: “What the _fuck_?”

Writing a creepily sexual book about herself and the closest thing she had to a real friend was bad enough, but writing it using her name? It was nothing short of abhorrent. She very nearly threw it into the lake, but then thought better of it. It was the only piece of evidence she had, and she needed it to get to the bottom of this. She squared her shoulders, ignoring the uneasy tremor in her gut, and opened the book to a different page.

_“It was sensation in its purest form – indescribable. She’d expected pain, but after the initial prick, there were only endless waves of pleasure, each more intense than the last. Serana’s arms encircled her, the vampire’s lips caressing her pulse point as she fed, and Evita could no longer move. She felt feverish, nipples hard beneath her tunic, and the ache between her legs was slowly building to a crescendo. She wanted nothing more than for Serana to shred every inch of clothing from her body, so she could better feel those soft lips and cold, clever hands on her overheated skin. But the words wouldn’t come, and she clung to Serana and moaned, helpless. She **was** helpless right there, and the realization made her throb, squeezing her thighs together. She **wanted** to be helpless. She wanted to give herself over completely to Serana’s mercy, worship her, fulfill her every desire. She whimpered when Serana pulled away._

_The vampire’s teeth gleamed like pearl, a faint blush high on her cheek, and her lips were stained crimson. A droplet of blood slid from the corner of her mouth. ‘Evita,’ she whispered. Her fingers stroked the Dragonborn’s tawny hair, dark with sweat. ‘You taste incredible.’_

_‘Please,’ Evita begged, dizzy with longing. Her hands, normally so steady, fumbled at the laces of her tunic. ‘Please, Serana, I need – ‘_

_‘I know what you need, pet.’ A gentle finger pressed against her lips. ‘And I’m going to give it to you, as soon as you tell me who you belong to.’_

_‘You,’ she panted, sinking into mindless bliss as Serana’s thigh slid between hers, lips finding her neck once more. ‘You, you, you…’_

“Evita?”

The book landed spine-down on the deck, pages fluttering in the breeze. Reluctantly, Evita turned. Serana stood in the doorway, arms folded. She didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t look angry, either; Serana was hard to read at the best of times. “What are you doing?”

“Uh. Well.” Evita hadn’t prepared for this. She coughed and looked away, out over the water. “I was just…”

Serana looked pointedly at the book lying between them. “Doing some light reading?”

“I didn’t write it!” Evita blurted. It wasn’t the most eloquent defense, but it was all she could come up with on the spot. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I wouldn’t do that. I swear.”

They stared at one another – Serana unmoving, Evita poised for flight. She was no coward, but she didn’t feel up to fighting a pissed-off vampire in her civilian clothes. Crickets trilled from the shore, and a thrush emerged from a nearby treetop in a rustle of feathers. Then, Serana’s arms dropped to her sides, and she laughed.

“You should see your face! Calm down. I know you didn’t write it.”

“I hate you, you know that?” Evita leaned against the table, suddenly light-headed with misplaced adrenaline and relief. Her hands shook, just a little. “Gods. What the fuck, Serana? That wasn’t funny.”

“Don’t be mad at _me_.” Serana stooped down to pick up the book, snapping it shut. “Be mad at whoever wrote this and left it out here for me to find.”

“Actually, hold on. Back up. How are you so sure I didn’t write this?”

“Well, for one, I don’t think you’re stupid enough to use your real name.”

“That… is a really good point.”

“And two, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pick up a book, so…”

“Hey! I read. Sometimes.”

Serana scoffed.

“What, you think I couldn’t write this dung?”

“Well, could you?”

Evita opened her mouth, then closed it. Chewed her lip. Picked at a scab on her elbow. Serana examined her nails while she waited.

“Fuck off,” Evita finally muttered, and snatched the book back, thumbing through it. “So, you came outside tonight and this was just waiting here for you to find?”

“Pretty much.”

“That’s creepy as shit.”

“Tell me about it.” Serana tucked her hair behind her ears, which she only did when she was on edge. “You can get to the porch if you feel like swimming, but why go to all the trouble just to annoy us?”

“Not to mention going to the trouble of writing it in the first place.”

“Exactly.”

There was a long pause as both of them looked at the book.

“We could burn it,” Evita said.

“Let’s do that,” Serana agreed, a touch too quickly.

Evita squinted at her. “You didn’t write this, did you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“So glad I let you live here.”

 

The plan hit a snag when they found out that the book wouldn’t burn. It was also water-resistant and immune to tearing (as Evita discovered when she took her mace to it out of frustration). No matter what they tried, it remained pristine, and after an hour of attempted destruction, they gave up and sat at the dining table, unhappy and sweaty. The book had been locked in the basement safe, and Evita thumped her head against the table.

“I hate this.”

“Look at it this way,” Serana said. “You’re one step closer to finding out who the real author is.”

“How do you figure?”

“That thing is dripping with complex enchantments. Whoever wrote it is either a powerful mage, or rich enough to pay one to do it for them.” She propped her chin in her hands, frowning. “Someone who has it out for one or both of us. That should narrow down the list.”

“Maybe they’re just angling for a threesome,” Evita said dryly.

Serana rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile crept onto her lips. “Can’t rule it out, I guess.” She didn’t smile very often. Less since the business with Evita beheading her father to prevent the enslavement of humanity. “On the bright side, something like that would be almost impossible to mass-produce, so there’s a good chance we have the only one.”

“Zenithar, I hope so.”

Serana laughed. “Of course, now that I’ve said that, Brynjolf will be selling copies by the bushel tomorrow morning.”

“I’d be impressed. It’d mean that one of his schemes finally paid off.”

They both laughed this time. It was a little forced, but it was good to hear Serana laugh again, and Evita was glad to know she still could. It made her look less like the shell she’d retreated into after Harkon’s death, eyes shining in the dimly-lit room. Her eyes gave most people the creeps, but Evita liked them. They put her in mind of newly-minted septims, or the harvest moon hanging full over the forests of Glenumbra.

_“You,” she panted, “you, you, you…”_

She stood up too fast. The table wobbled, and Serana glanced at her, head cocked. “You know what? I’m really tired. I think I’m gonna head to bed. We can deal with this tomorrow.”

Serana, damn her, was too perceptive to be deterred so easily. “Evita.”

Evita hesitated.

“That book… it’s not going to make things uncomfortable between us, is it?”

“C’mon. You think someone’s idea of a joke can get between us?” She hoped the lightness in her voice didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “After everything we’ve been through? No such luck.”

“Shame,” Serana said. “And here I was, hoping.”

“Tough shit. Besides, we were so out of character in that thing, it’s like it wasn’t even really us. You know?” _You’re babbling. Stop babbling._ Evita scratched the back of her neck, forced a grin. “It’s just a stupid book.”

She was rewarded with one of Serana’s rare smiles, all-too-brief in its loveliness. “Sleep well.”

“Right,” she said, somewhat dazed, and stumbled off to her room. It was too warm for the quilt, so she lay on top of the comforter in her smallclothes with her eyes shut and listened to the night-noises drifting in through the window.

_She **wanted** to be helpless –_

A curse slipped from her lips before she could muffle it, and she crammed her pillow over her face, biting back a frustrated growl. That damn book! It was in her head now. She really would have thrown it in the lake if she wasn’t worried about it drifting to shore for someone else to find. When she found out who was responsible, she was going to string them up by their guts and leave them for the crows.

 _And you’re not even a little bit curious?_ A sly voice piped up from some neglected corner of her head. _What it would be like in her arms, even just for a night?_

“Shut up,” she said into the pillow.

_The things she could do? The things she could make you feel, if you gave in?_

“Shut up!” She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her head, face-down against the mattress. That book was dangerous, she was sure of it now. And until she could figure out how to destroy it, it was going to stay locked in the basement with the rest of the cursed artifacts.

She slept eventually, though not well, and woke up to a tranquil midsummer morning. Iona was puttering around in the other room, making breakfast; cupboards opened and shut, and the rich smell of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the house. Evita dressed, feeling much more cheerful. Today was going to be better. And it was, until she wandered into the kitchen and Iona stopped turning the cooking spit long enough to greet her.

“Good morning, my Thane. There’s a letter on the table for you.”

“Oh. Thanks.” A heavy cream-colored envelope sat next to the centerpiece. She picked it up. “Who’s it from?”

“Summons from the Blue Palace. It came while you were sleeping.”

Inside was a letter from Jarl Elisif, requesting that they speak personally. As soon as she saw the word “discretion”, her heart sank, and she dropped it on the table. Iona caught sight of her face. “Is everything alright?”

Evita looked up at the ceiling. “Please, let it be more necromancers.”


	2. The Midnight Throne

It wasn’t necromancers. It was worse.

“It’s really very well-written,” Elisif assured her, hands folded primly in her lap. An untouched teacup sat in front of her on the table, rose-scented steam itching at Evita’s nose. She hated rosehip tea, but she’d choked some down, not wanting to be rude. “Very… thorough.”

 _Hircine’s hairy tits._ Evita sighed. “Jarl Elisif – “

“Oh, I’m not upset,” Elisif said. Her cheeks were a little pink. “It was a flattering portrayal.”

“I’m relieved to hear that, but I didn’t write it.” Evita shifted in her seat. They were alone in Elisif’s chambers, doors locked. What the guards posted outside thought was anyone’s guess. “I know what it sounds like, but I promise you, I wouldn’t write something like that, let alone publish it under my real name. I don’t even like books.”

“You don’t like books?”

“Well, I – look, that’s not the point. I’m sorry if you’ve had any trouble on my account, but it wasn’t me.”

“Oh.” Elisif sat back, examining Evita’s face with wide blue eyes. “You really didn’t write it?”

“No. I swear by the Eight, I didn’t write the book.”

“I see,” Elisif said, after a pause. She sounded almost disappointed, which Evita was not prepared to deal with at this particular juncture. “Do you know who did?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. This is the second time this has happened.”

“Oh dear. I’m so sorry.” One of Elisif’s hands covered Evita’s in the center of the table. It was pale against her own golden-brown skin, and very soft. “If there’s anything I can do to help, please. Let me know?”

 _My gods, where’s Potema when you need her?_ “I appreciate the gesture.” She gingerly removed her hand from beneath Elisif’s. “You wouldn’t happen to have the book still, would you?”

“I do. One moment.” Elisif got up and retrieved a slim, leather-bound volume from her nightstand. It was almost identical to the first, save for the title. _The Midnight Throne,_ by E. Draconis. She handed it to Evita. “The head scullery maid turned it into Falk, who brought it to me. Apparently it made quite a few rounds through the palace staff before she got ahold of it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Because of course it had. “I think it’s best if I take it and lock it up with the other one. Make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“Of course,” Elisif said hastily. “Yes, that would probably be for the best, wouldn’t it?”

There was that air of almost-disappointment again. Evita glanced past her, to the empty four-poster bed with its neat, sterile corners and austere drapery, and felt a pang of… something. Empathy wasn’t her strong suit, but Elisif had been nothing but kind to her in the time they’d known one another. She stood, tucking the book under her arm. “My Jarl.” This time, it was her who took Elisif’s hand, and her lips caressed Elisif’s knuckles when she bowed. “I need to get going, but as always, it’s been a pleasure.”

“You big flatterer,” Elisif said, but she’d brightened considerably. “Come back again soon, won’t you?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

 

She could have stayed at the inn, but she needed to get out of the city. Half the court had seen her coming out of Elisif’s chambers, and the smothered laughter and sideways glances had driven her straight through Solitude’s gates and down to the stables. Evita didn’t like people nosing around in her business – a fact that made the role of Dragonborn uniquely hellish – and she liked it even less when she wasn’t in on the joke. The stable boy brought her horse, freshly-tacked, and she gave him a coin before taking off.

Truth be told, she hated Solitude. It was old and bitter and brooding, a once-proud beauty past its prime, and the only thing more stifling than the walls was the air of discontent breeding amongst those who resented the Empire’s thumb. That was what she liked about Riften – it might be a waterlogged shithole, but it didn’t try to pretend to be better than it was. She nudged her horse from a trot to a gallop. He was a young gelding she’d picked up during a stint in Falkreath, bad-tempered and unnamed. She didn’t see the point in getting attached. But he’d once kicked a bandit down a cliff in the middle of a brawl, and that was good enough for her.

His hooves drummed the ground rhythmically as they tore down the road at a breakneck pace, dust and pebbles scattering in their wake. She could breathe easier once they reached the forest, and slowed him to a canter, trying to collect herself. They took the long way through. The sunlight dripping through the trees and the sound of birds chattering to one another calmed her, made it easier to think, but the book in her saddlebag irritated her still. _Who even has time to do this shit?_

She tried to ignore it. She really did. But there was no one around for miles, and late that night, as they often did, her self-destructive impulses won out. Horse watered and fed, she settled at the base of an old oak – her campsite for the night – and stretched out in the cradle of its roots, coat a makeshift pillow beneath her head. She’d never been much for magic, but even she knew a few basic cantrips, and she cast one now. An apple-sized ball of pure energy hovered just above her head, shedding tiny rays of white light in all directions. It was only a little stronger than the starlight, but she didn’t need much for her purposes.

_“Nightfall came, and with it, the measured stride of boots echoing across the polished floors of the Blue Palace. She took her time. There was no need for haste in the witching hours, not while her Queen sat waiting on her midnight throne. The night belonged to them, in all its cool splendor. The court was abed, the guards dismissed, and the hall sat empty but for a single figure. When the doors opened, Evita stepped inside, and her breath caught in her throat. For there Elisif lounged, robed in nothing but moonlight. She was a living sculpture with lips and hair like freshly-spilled blood, carved from moonstone and marble; when she raised her proud chin, Evita went to her knees._

_‘My Queen,’ she breathed._

_One delicate foot extended toward her, with its lovely arch and painted toes. ‘Approach, Champion.’_

_Evita knew this game well, but it never failed to make her stomach flutter with anticipation, a slow ache already building between her thighs. She crawled. It was no sniveling coward’s crawl, but the sinuous, rolling gait of a predator temporarily tamed. That was how Elisif liked her best – a constant reminder of the power she possessed, and her willing submission despite it (or perhaps because of it). When she reached the throne, she knelt on the bottom step and cupped Elisif’s heel with careful hands, pressing a reverent kiss to the top of her foot. This was who they became on those precious nights, few and far between: the rightful Queen and her adoring Champion, the Dragonborn, begging to worship at the altar of her cunt.”_

Her light winked out, and Evita shut the book, shaking her head. At this point, she could only hope that the maid who had confiscated it had done so before one of Ulfric’s spies saw it and word got out that she’d cast her lot in with the Legion.

(At least, she was assuming Ulfric had spies in the palace staff. He was a bigger idiot than she’d given him credit for if he didn’t.)

She’d made it clear long ago that any titles or expectations she received had been foisted on her, rather than being something she’d embraced. Since she’d become Thane of more than one hold, no one could accuse her of favoritism, especially since she spent most of her time in Stormcloak territory. That seemed to be the only reason the peace treaty was hanging on by a few last, tenuous threads, and she didn’t need some book undoing all her hard work. She had to wonder if the anonymous author had any idea what they were playing at, and if so, to what ends. _We’ll see how clever they are when I feed them their own tongue._

The worst part was that she could picture the scene perfectly. The throne room awash in silver, the dais hard beneath her knees, the blue walls and curtains and rugs turned black as the night sky, and Elisif glowing in the center of it all, the touch of her thigh like silk against Evita’s cheek –

She was clutching the book hard enough to leave grooves in the center of her palms. When she let go, it fell into her lap, and she had to resist the urge to kick it away. It wasn’t as though she didn’t know Elisif was an attractive woman. She knew it a little too well, if anything; her thoughts tended to drift on long winter nights while her body ached for warmth, and there were plenty of those to be had in Skyrim. But she also believed in keeping her personal and professional lives separate, and only now did they seem determined to collide, for reasons she couldn’t yet fathom. She would have slept then if she could have, and tried to forget all about what she’d read. But her heart was still racing, her skin tingling in the humid summer night, and she found herself casting the candle spell again, hands opening the book as if of their own volition.

_“She loved these nights. All her responsibilities – and with them, the crushing pressures placed on her – fell away, thoughts quieting from a maelstrom to ripples on the surface of the lake. No strife, no pain, just the caring guidance of someone who saw only the best in her. She lapped obediently at Elisif’s clit, her Queen’s hands in her hair, and her entire world narrowed to the hot flesh beneath her tongue and Elisif’s breathy moans curling in her ear like a siren’s song. She wanted to touch herself, but she resisted. She hadn’t been given permission yet. Slick drenched her lips and ran sweet down her chin as she buried her face deeper between Elisif’s legs, braced on her hands and knees, and Elisif writhed, her cries sweeter still.”_

Evita undid her belt. _Fuck it._ It had been too long, and she was alone in the woods with no one to judge her.

“That means you too,” she told her horse. He swished his tail and turned away. "That's what I thought."

She felt a little guilty, but guilt didn’t stop her from coming so hard that she whacked her head against the tree trunk at her back, and the subsequent swearing earned a scolding from a pine thrush in a nearby tree. Eventually, both pain and post-orgasm fog lifted, leaving her cross and sticky in the damp air. She cleaned her hands with water from the skin strapped to her belt, then splashed some on her face. Not her proudest moment, but the important part was that she’d gotten it out of her system, and wouldn’t be tempted again. _Bunch of flowery nonsense. It’s not even that good, for fuck’s sake._

She fell asleep clutching the book, and woke early the next morning to find that her horse had gotten into her pack and was eating the rest of her dried fruit.

“Horsemeat stew,” she told him, struggling to her feet. Her back ached from the roots digging into it all night. She groaned and shook a handful of leaves from her hair. “That’s what you’re going to be if you keep this up.”

He spat an apple core at her. It was going to be one of those weeks, Evita thought. She stepped down, and immediately trod in an enormous pat of fresh manure. The horse snorted, sounding pleased with himself, and began munching on the strap of her satchel.

It was definitely going to be one of those weeks.


	3. A Lover's Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con/drunken sex warning for pretty much this entire chapter.

Thonar Silver-Blood didn’t love his wife, but he was generally glad he’d married her. It had been a strategic decision – Betrid was the only person alive whose ambitions outstripped his own, and she looked good on his arm at parties. When they’d first wed, he’d been the envy of every red-blooded Nord in the Reach. But there were times, few and far between as they were, that he regretted his decision. The first was on their wedding night. The second was now.

“Dear husband,” Betrid said. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

Her voice was honey-sweet, but every inch of her dripped with fury, from her blazing kohl-lined eyes to the long scarlet fingernails drumming on the cover of a leather-bound book. Thonar glanced up from his ledger long enough to make out the title. _A Lover’s Price._

“As much as I enjoy you shrieking at me while I’m trying to work, oh wife of mine, I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.” He dipped his quill in the inkpot and shook the excess from the nib. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Don’t be coy,” Betrid snapped. “It’s one thing to have your little dalliances with the shopkeep or the serving girls, but I will _not_ be made a fool of like this!”

“Ah, but why would I want to, when you do such a fine job of it on your own?”

He was prepared, but only just; the book slammed against the wall next to his head, pages flapping like the wings of a startled bird. His chair dragged against the stone when he stood, palms braced on his desk, but the look in Betrid’s eyes stole the retort from his tongue before he had a chance to let loose. He’d seen her at her best – cunning, quick, seductive – and her worst – vindictive, petty, enraged – but never like this. Never wracked with anything so human as jealousy.

“How long?” He didn’t answer fast enough, and she raised her voice, skirts balled in her fists. “ _How long_ , Thonar?”

He couldn’t remember the last time they’d addressed one another by name. Usually it was just ‘husband’ and ‘wife’, uttered with enough contempt to turn it from endearment to insult.

“Betrid,” he said, and her name tasted strange, like it didn’t belong in his mouth. She stiffened, but when he crossed the room to take her in his arms, she didn’t pull away. “You know how little patience I have for games. How long _what_?”

Her fingers curled at the collar of his tunic. “How long have you been sleeping with the Dragonborn?”

He laughed. “The Dr – is that why you’re upset?”

“Don’t mock me,” she hissed, and tried to twist away. But he was faster, grabbing her wrists and holding her fast against him, and a thrill ran through him when she didn’t resist. How long had it been since he’d desired his own wife, or she him? Had they ever? Even so, he was starting to feel it now, cock hardening against his thigh when her pulse fluttered against his fingertips.

“Sweetling, I’ve never even met the Dragonborn.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. They’d met once, at Calcelmo and Faleen’s wedding several months prior. He’d gotten drunk to cope, and as such, only had a vague recollection of curly hair and a thick High Rock accent. “Why would you think I’m sleeping with her?”

“Because she wrote a book about it!”

Still angry, yes, but still in his arms, waiting to be soothed. He bent his head to hers. “And who are you going to believe, me or some woman who’s dying of envy over you?” She hesitated, and he knew he had her. His lips brushed her ear. “Where did you get it?”

“Rhiada was reading it on her break.” Betrid’s hand crept up to curl around the back of his neck. “Giggling her fool head off, the little wench. I’m surprised that the Dragonborn had the guts to publish it under her own name. It really is an appalling piece of tripe.”

“You see? It was probably just meant to rile you. You complained about her for weeks after she ruined your summer solstice party.”

“She threw up in my enchanted fountain. Was she raised by wolves?” But she was beginning to preen, mollified; her nails scratched lightly at his nape, drawing forth a pleasant shudder. “Perhaps you’re right, though. I may have been… hasty in my assessment of the situation.”

It had been a long time, and he’d had an extra glass of wine with dinner, and she was most beautiful when she was angry. Thonar nuzzled the spot where her shoulder met her neck. She smelled like clean sweat and soap, and it made him burn all the brighter. “Why would I want her, when I could have you instead?”

Not his most artful attempt at seduction, to be fair, but he’d learned long ago not to underestimate Betrid’s ego. And yet, he was almost surprised when she kissed him, arms around his neck and lips sweet on his own. She’d been drinking too, and tasted like mead. They didn’t bother with the bed. Not when the fur rug in front of the desk worked just as well.

Later, after Betrid had fallen asleep, he thumbed through the book, curious to see what all the fuss was about. At first, he found it more amusing than anything. It was the sort of trash one might expect to find in a lonely noblewoman’s bedside drawer, spine creased and pages dog-eared for easy reading. It was also poorly-disguised. The lurid tale followed Elaine Dracarys, reluctant savior of Nirn, and her affair with Talon Goldbrand, married patriarch of one of the most powerful families in the province. From what he could tell, it consisted mostly of anguished confessions and anatomically-improbable coupling. There was even a section where ‘Elaine’ became ‘Evita’ for a full page. A pathetic attempt at stirring up trouble, he thought, and left it at that. That is, until he went to see Lisbet at their usual spot the following evening, only to find the door locked and a copy of _A Lover’s Price_ pinned to the wood with a dagger, along with a note.

_EXPLAIN._

And suddenly, Thonar Silver-Blood was no longer amused.

 

“Do you really need to loot every last corpse in this place?”

“What? They don’t need their shit anymore.” Evita stopped rifling through the dead Forsworn’s things long enough to give Serana a look. “Also, you eat people. You don’t get to judge me.”

“I do not eat – okay, you know what? Fine.” Serana looked up at the ceiling with her best ‘long-suffering friend’ expression. She’d had ample time to perfect it while in Evita’s company. “Just hurry up, will you? I’m no fan of the sun, but it’s better than this.”

“Snow, rain, sun, inside, outside… is there anything you won’t complain about?”

“You spend four thousand years sealed underground, then tell me how you feel about caves.”

“Gods, fine. Let’s go. Listening to you whine is taking years off my life.”

“Skyrim should be so lucky.”

Kolskeggr hadn’t been Evita’s first planned stop on their trip to the Reach, but it had come at an opportune time – she was bored and out of coin, and clearing a rogue band of Forsworn out of a literal goldmine seemed like a lucrative way to kill some time. And if she helped herself to a few stray gold bars in the process, well, that was her business. The Silver-Bloods had more money than they knew what to do with. Her cut wouldn’t even make a dent. She’d taken what she pleased once they were done and whistled her way on up the road, pack bulging at the seams. Serana trudged along behind her, hood drawn low over her face. “The Reach is horrible in the summer. Remind me why we’re here again?”

“I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” Evita flashed a grin over her shoulder. “Let’s just say there are rumors of big game in the mountains, and with big game comes big rewards.”

Serana eyed her warily. “I hate it when you smile like that. It never means anything good.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. It’ll be fun.”

“You and I have very different definitions of the word ‘fun’.”

“That becomes clearer every day, my friend.”

The market was in full swing when they arrived. Evita hated open-air markets; they were a crowded, noisy, endless assault on her senses, and even the worst pickpockets found themselves emboldened by the crushing sea of bodies. She smacked more than one anonymous hand on her way to the jeweller's stall. But the clouds were sparse and the sun warm, the sky as blue as the western seas, and for once, she was finding it hard to be in a bad mood. She and Kerah were haggling over the price of gold bars when two men approached. They were both Nords, tall and scarred, and people scattered out of their path like leaves on the wind.

“Dragonborn,” the bigger of the two said. Evita took them in, from their twin shaved heads and steely eyes to the Silver-Blood crest embroidered on their tunics, and silently cursed her luck.

“Look, if this is about Betrid’s stupid fountain, I already paid to have it cleaned. You can tell her she’s not getting another septim.”

“Nah,” said the smaller one. ‘Smaller’ was a relative term – her head came up to maybe the middle of his chest.  “We’re here to take you up the Treasury House. Boss wants a word with ya.”

“Which one?”

“Thonar.” The bigger one jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“Fine. But she comes with me.” Evita pointed to Serana, who was making no effort to pretend she wasn’t eavesdropping. “I want a witness.”

The men exchanged glances. The smaller shrugged. “Come on, then.”

Evita dragged her feet the whole way there, lagging several paces behind their escort, and Serana fell into step with her. “What do you think he wants?”

“Fuck if I know.” Evita glared at the Treasury House as it came into view. “What he _should_ be doing if thanking us for clearing out his mine.”

“That was half an hour ago. He probably doesn’t even know it’s clear yet.”

“Don’t you bring logic into this. You know I hate that.”

Serana rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again. “What was that about you throwing up in a fountain?”

“I got really drunk at Betrid’s summer solstice party and ended up hurling in her enchanted singing fountain.” Serana stared at her, and she shrugged. “What? There were free drinks, and it was really annoying. I did everyone a favor.”

And then they were there and there was no time for Serana to scold her, so they just pulled faces at one another while the men hustled them inside. Evita had expected everything to be silver, but disappointingly, it boasted the same stone-and-bronze interior as the rest of the city. There were a few staff members milling about – an old man sweeping, an older woman clearing tables and a younger one behind the counter with a faint bruise on her cheek – but they averted their eyes from the women being marched to Thonar’s study. The bigger of the men rapped on the door.

“Boss. You got a visitor.”

“I know, you cretin, I told you to fetch her,” came the impatient reply. “Send her in.”

Evita didn’t care much for being sent places, but Betrid had already gouged her on the price of fountain repair – like she needed the money – and she wasn’t about to pay to have Thonar’s doors replaced, too. She waited for them to open, teeth clenched against the Shout that so desperately wanted to burst forth. Thonar was seated behind his desk, hands folded and face composed, but he looked less than impressed when he saw both of them.

“I requested that you come alone.”

“Oh, no. I’m not that stupid.” Evita crossed her arms. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of her.”

Serana blinked at him once, languid, eyes glowing. She gave off the impression of a cat considering whether or not a particular mouse was worth its time. Thonar’s upper lip glistened with beads of sweat. “Fine. If you insist.”

The book hit the desk, and silence gathered in his chamber like stormclouds.

“Oh, fuck _me_!”

This was followed by a rather loud crunching sound.

“You know,” Serana said as Evita was extracting her boot from the side of the bookshelf, “we probably should have guessed it was going to be another book.”

“You have got to be fucking _kidding_ me!”

“What do you mean, another book?” Thonar demanded. “Are you saying you didn’t write this?”

“Write it? She can barely read.”

“Hey!” Evita snatched the book off the desk, tucking it under her arm. “And no, I didn’t write this. You think I want your wife up my ass all over again?”

“She is still upset about the party,” Thonar conceded. “But who would go to the trouble?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. “ She scratched at a patch of dried blood on her cheek with her free hand, where it was starting to itch, and shrugged. “But I promise you’re not the only one who’s featured in one of these.”

“Are there any other copies?” Serana asked.

Thonar took a second book out of his desk, identical to the first except for the huge, jagged hole in the center. “As far as I know, those are the only two.”

Evita decided she didn’t want to know. “Good.” She took it, acutely aware of his eyes on her face. Still trying to discern whether or not she was lying, probably. “You’re welcome, by the way. We saved your mine from the Forsworn, again. You really need to get better guards.”

“Or at least more of them, if they’re going to die so easily,” Serana added.

It was gratifying to see him at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing like a histcarp. Evita waggled both copies of the book in his direction. “Thanks for your help in our investigation. See you… the next time you need a problem solved, I assume.”

“ _I_ called for _you_ ,” Thonar started. The rest was lost as she shut the doors with a resounding clang that echoed across the Treasury House. No one dared to make eye contact when she strode past, head held high and Serana a few paces behind her. Neither of them spoke until they were back outside on the street.

“C’mon, let’s go back to the inn. I want to go drink until I forget what just happened.”

“That’s going to take a lot of alcohol.”

“Well, obviously.”

Serana pursed her lips. “You’re right. I definitely don’t have anything better to do than watch you try to drink yourself to death.”

“That’s the spirit.”

 

It took some convincing, but eventually Evita agreed to bathe and put on clean clothes before she got too drunk to do either (if only because Serana threatened to lock her out of their room overnight if she didn’t). She went back to the market to finish pawning their spoils, and Evita schlepped off to the bathhouse and tried not to think about the part of her that was both relieved and disappointed that Serana wasn’t coming along. It was those damn books, getting her all mixed up and toying with her thoughts again.

 _Right, blame the books,_ the little voice in her head said smugly, and she clamped down on it before it went any further.

As far as bathhouses went, Markarth’s wasn’t bad, if not quite as nice as the one in Solitude. The main difference was that while the baths in Solitude were heated with a combination of enchantments and fire ruins, the baths near Understone Keep were kept warm by the complex maze of Dwemer-built pipes that snaked beneath the city like a maze. Evita paid far too much money to soak off the grime and left smelling like flowers, skin scrubbed tender and pink beneath the bronze of it, but she had to admit that it felt nice not to be covered in dried blood and dirt. Maybe Serana was onto something with her ‘bathing regularly’ nonsense. They met back at the inn.

“How’d it go at the market?”

Serana tossed her a coinpurse, septims clinking merrily. “You tell me.”

“You’re the best.” Evita caught it, the weight in her hands a familiar, welcome distraction. “It really is too bad you don’t drink.”

“I think you drink enough for the both of us.”

“But I like drinking with someone! People look at you funny if you drink too much by yourself.”

As it turned out, she had no shortage of drinking companions that night – the miners from Left Hand and Kolskeggr were all there, packing in by the drove to celebrate the defeat of the Forsworn, and each and every one of them seemed to want to buy her a pint. Hroki and Hreinn dashed from one end of the tavern to the other, trays of ale and mead wobbling precariously in each hand, and Kleppr and Frabbi were so busy collecting coin and serving up food they didn’t have time to snipe at each other. Then someone thought to pay the skald, and the roof nearly came off with the resulting cheer as he struck up The Dragonborn Comes. Evita pounded back whatever liquor was thrust into her hand, singing along with the rest until she went hoarse. Serana had left a while ago for a walk, claiming that the noise and body heat were too much for her. Probably hunting, or maybe she just wanted to be alone. Momentary guilt made the ale in Evita’s gut sour.

But no, Serana was more than capable of taking care of herself, and if she wanted to be alone, that was her right. Evita was warm and drunk and exuberant, and she planned to stay that way. All around her, people sang and danced and shouted over the music, their laughter echoing off the walls. A group of miners were playing King’s Cup at a table nearby. She’d have to get in on that after she let her last drink settle.

It was hot in there, though, and the heat kept on rising. Sweat dripped from her hairline and trickled down her back, right along her spine. Maybe she’d go find one of her sleeveless tunics, or the one dress she owned, try to cool down a bit. She slid off her barstool with only the tiniest of wobbles and tottered down the hallway, proud of her own restraint. As soon as she let herself into the room, however, she was confronted with a new problem. Namely, the book she’d liberated from Thonar, sitting innocently next to her pack like it was just waiting to be read.

She shook off the thought, confused as to where it had come from. She didn’t want to read about her fictional counterpart having it off with any of the Silver-Bloods, and especially not Thonar. Thongvor was an overzealous idiot, but there was something about Thonar that made her feel… slimy. Like there was a film that clung to you whenever you set foot in his home, one that couldn’t be washed off no matter how hard you scrubbed. She changed her tunic and splashed some water on the back of her neck, where her skin was tacky with perspiration. It seemed even hotter now than it had when she first came back to the room. Summer in the Reach really was the worst.

The book leered up at her from the bed, title shining like an elegant gold-leaf taunt. She didn’t want to touch it, but her hands were picking it up of their own accord before the thought had even fully formed. Maybe this was part of the enchantment, she reasoned, fingers poised to crack it open like a clamshell. Maybe it compelled people to read it. If that was the case, all she had to do was read a sentence or two, and the urge would go away. It was worth a try.

_“Wait,’ she pled, trying to reason with him, but he was already crowding her against one of the pillars in the very back corner, where no one could see them. Gauzy, silver-white curtains swayed all around them, rocked by the gentle fingers of the breeze. Faint laughter drifted from down the hall, where the party went on without them. He didn’t laugh, didn’t smile; just stared down at her with that same intense look he’d had all night, that one that made something hot and dark unfurl inside her._

_‘What?’_

_It came out as a growl, scraped like fingernails along her skin until she shuddered. She wasn’t weak, but he made her feel like she was. ‘We shouldn’t… here? Anyone could see us.’_

_Her hands had been on his chest, not exactly stopping him so much as holding him in place. A small sound escaped her lips, shocked and needy, as he grabbed her wrists with one hand and pinned them over her head. He bent his head to hers, his body hard and unyielding against her own, stronger than any man who sat behind a desk all day had a right to be. ‘Let them.’_

_Two simple words, and yet they robbed her of her breath. His thigh was pressed between hers, forcing them apart, and she was afraid he could feel her pulse there, slick and warm and waiting –_

_No! She had to resist him. She struggled, twisting, but his grip was like iron and all it did was make her wetter. ‘Please, we can’t…’_

_‘You want this as badly as I do.’ With his other hand, he reached between their bodies, and she could feel him fumbling through the layers of her skirts, undoing the laces of his own breeches. His teeth scraped her earlobe, breath harsh in her ear. ‘Don’t you dare lie to me.’_

_‘Your wife,’ she gasped, even as she knew the fight was lost. One last attempt before she yielded her bare throat to his teeth, pulse fluttering like a frantic little bird. He let go of her hands, but only for a second, and then he was grabbing her thighs and hoisting her up against the pillar, cold marble digging into her bare back. ‘Your wife, she…’ The rest was lost to a choked-off moan as his fingers yanked her smallclothes out of the way, brushing her clit, and something thick and blunt pressed against her. For the first time that night, he smiled, and it was mocking._

_‘What about my wife?’_

_His hand clapped across her mouth as his cock slid home, to the hilt, and she screamed into his palm.”_

Evita buried the book in the bottom of her pack and took off, back to the bar. She no longer felt drunk, and she wanted to run, but only her remaining dignity forced her to keep it to a fast walk. The miners were still playing King’s Cup – of course they were, she’d only been gone for minutes even though it felt like hours had passed – and she snatched a tankard off of Hroki’s passing tray.

“You boys mind if I join you?”

Not only did they not mind, but two of them were survivors from Kolskeggr who wanted to shake her hand and buy her an ale, and Evita ended up joining them for several rounds, only stopping to take a break when the dice she was throwing became too blurry to read. Then she stumbled outside for some fresh air on the back porch, leaving the raucous conversation and music behind for a moment. It was too dark to see anything, but the spray from the waterfall across the way was refreshing when it caressed her bare face and arms. She leaned into it and hoped that Serana came back soon.

“Dragonborn,” someone said behind her, and she huffed, closing her eyes.

“Go away.”

Thonar joined her at the railing, flagon in hand. He was dressed down now, no fancy clothes or jewels, and his face looked drawn, planes sharp and angular in the torchlight. He stared straight ahead, out over the dark, jagged skyline of the city and the mountains rising behind it. “I’m not here to harass you.”

“Then why are you here?” She tried to lean on the railing and missed, hand swiping at thin air. _Shit._ But if he noticed, he didn’t say anything, and she played it off like a yawn. “You like drinking with the riffraff?”

“I came to thank you.” He set the flagon between them on the railing. She looked at it, then at him, and his eyes flickered in her direction, unreadable. “Kolskeggr Mine is of immeasurable value to my business. Come by the Treasury House before you leave, and I’ll see to it that you’re rewarded.”

She had no idea what to say. She was drunk and he was standing a normal distance away, but it still felt too close. He was offering her a reward and she was thinking about whether or not he’d be anything like he was in the book as lover, if he’d be surprisingly gentle or if he would bend her over the railing and use every tool at his disposal to make her scream. He was looking at her now, clearly waiting for a response, and her tongue was heavy and useless in her mouth. His eyes were so brown they were nearly black.

She had to get out.

“Thanks, but I… I’ve had too much already.” She was already backing away, fumbling with the words. “I can come by tomorrow, or – “

“Or maybe,” Thonar said, and he was already stepping forward, not exactly blocking her path, but _there_ , so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body through her clothes. “You’re looking for a different kind of reward.”

She took a step back, laughed. It came out more like a squeak. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re a smart woman, Evita.” He took a step forward. She backed up instinctively, and her back hit the wall, right next to the door. Thonar leaned in, hand braced next to her head; not trapping her, but very much still _there._ “I think you know.”

It had been a long time since anyone had said her name like that, thick with promise. It sounded a lot nicer than how most people said it, with exasperation or indifference (if they bothered to call her by name at all). He smelled nicer than she expected this close up, too, like expensive spiced wine. Her breath hitched. He wasn’t supposed to smell nice.

“I think there’s been a… a misunderstanding.” He was tall enough that she had to tip her head up to look him in the eye. She tried not to squirm, but she could _feel_ the weight of his gaze like a living thing, coiling around her shoulders. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her, tracking the way her eyes flitted from him to the door and the bob of her throat when she swallowed.

“One night.” His smile was as thin and sharp as the blade of a knife. “No one would ever have to know.”

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, then uncurled, like they couldn’t decide what they wanted to do. “How often does that work for you?”

The stubble on his jaw brushed her cheek as he bent his head to her ear. “More often that you’d think.”

Something about the way he said it snapped her out of her trance, like a spell wearing off, and she ducked out of his reach. “I’ll be by tomorrow for the gold.” He didn’t reply. She opened the door, noise washing out over the porch to disrupt the evening’s peace. “ _Only_ the gold, Thonar.”

She didn’t dare look back. She could feel him watching her all the way down the hall.

 

Serana was in their room, reading, but she put the book down as soon as the door opened. “Where have you been?”

“We need to get out of this city,” Evita said.

“What? Why?”

She'd forgotten that she was drunk, but her body hadn’t, and she tripped over the doorframe to go sprawling out on the rug. Her head ached, and so did the rest of her, but for entirely different reasons.

“Ow,” she said aloud, then looked up at Serana, who was peering at her upside-down. _Like a bat._ The thought made her giggle.

“For gods’ sakes, Evita – “

“Thonar Silver-Blood just propositioned me.” On second thought, the rug was rather comfortable. Maybe they could just stay one more night.

On the other hand...

“If he does it again I think I might actually fuck him.”

Serana leapt to her feet. “I’ll pack my bag.”

“I don’t even remember why we came here,” Evita said.


	4. The Wicked and The Divine

_“It’s cold in the alleyway outside Candlehearth, but Susanna’s hands are warm and quick and her smile is bright as she slides them beneath Evita’s tunic, tracing the faint curve of her hips._

_‘I’ve heard all about your Voice,’ she purrs. ‘But quite frankly, I’m more interested in the tale of your tongue.’_

_Evita bursts out laughing. It turns into a gasp as Susanna tweaks her nipple. “That was terrible!”_

_‘Mm, yes, but you’re still laughing.’_

_She wants to retort, but Susanna’s fingers are doing pleasantly vicious things to her breasts now, and anything she might have said is swept away by a moan as Susanna’s lips find the hollow behind her ear, kissing a line of fire down her neck, lighting her up from the inside out – “_

“This one’s actually not bad,” Serana said, leaning over Evita’s shoulder. “It’s self-aware.”

“Please, go on. Explain to me how that – “ Evita stopped and looked up at Susanna. “Sorry, did you just _thank_ me?”

Susanna nodded, smiling like this was something that happened to her all the time (and maybe it did – Evita didn’t know her well enough to say otherwise). Her room at Candlehearth Hall was little bigger than a closet, but well lived-in, with gauzy curtains and colorful scarves draped over the lanterns so the whole room was bathed in red and gold. It was a show, yes, but a good one, practiced and refined over time like Susanna herself. She shimmered from where she sat cross-legged on the bed, like she’d been woven from stardust, and even though Evita knew it was all powders and perfumes, she couldn’t help but stare. Just a little.

“Do you have any idea how good this has been for business?” She laughed. It was refreshingly graceless. “Everyone wants to bed down with the girl who’s fucked a living legend. Fame by proxy. Elda’s running out of ale practically every other night.”

Serana’s eyebrows drew together. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would it?” Susanna shrugged, like it really _didn’t_ matter, and Evita was liking her more and more by the second. “Rumors don’t hurt me any. Some people take it too far, think that a bit of flirting means they can help themselves, but for most of them, the smiling and the flirting is enough. They like thinking that they _could_ ask, if they wanted, and I’d say yes.” The spark in her eye was why they called her wicked. It had to be. “And who am I to disillusion them, as long as they’re paying for the privilege?”

Serana almost looked impressed – no easy feat. Evita closed the book. “Do you mind if I take this?”

“Go right ahead,” Susanna said, flickering her hair over her shoulder. “That’s the only one, as far as I know. Not that it matters. Pretty sure half the city has it memorized by now.” She winked, and Evita tried to look like she wasn’t contemplating throwing herself into the Sea of Ghosts. “If you don’t mind, though, could I ask for one favor?”

“What?”

“Could you let people keep thinking we slept together? I won’t give anyone any details, cross my heart. It’s just been good for business.”

“People bother you for details?” Serana asked.

"It’s a tavern full of drunken men. What do you expect?”

“Right,” Evita said, already edging towards the door. “Well, if that’s everything, I think we’re going to go…”

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

Susanna hopped up to get the door for them, smoothing out her skirts where they clung to her hips. She was taller than Evita when they were all standing, and her bodice left little to the imagination. Evita stared resolutely past her shoulder when she offered her hand to shake. “Thank you for your, uh… hospitality. And your cooperation.”

“My pleasure.” Susanna took it. Her fingers were soft where they lingered against Evita’s callused palm. “Come back again anytime.”

“She was flirting with you,” Serana said flatly as they left the tavern, putting her hood up. Evita shrugged.

“It’s her job.”

“For patrons. Which you are not.”

“Let it go, Serana. She knows an opportunity when she sees one.” Evita looked up at the sun-drenched sky. “Can’t blame her for trying.”

 

But she did go back to Candlehearth later that night all the same, slipping up from the Gray Quarter with the moons lighting her way, and nursed a pint until she caught Susanna’s eye from the bar. Susanna was laughing with a table full of sailors, cheeks flushed and beads of sweat at her hairline, but when she saw Evita she disentangled herself with a bawdy joke and came over, plunking down on the nearest stool.

“You won’t believe this, but those men were just asking me about you.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Evita said, and Susanna laughed – a real laugh, deep and not at all flirtatious. “What did you tell them?”

Susanna’s fingers crept onto Evita’s knee, warm even through her breeches. Not moving, barely touching. Waiting to be welcomed. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Never?”

“Well,” Susanna hedged, drawing the word out. Her eyes were so green in the firelight that Evita was sure they couldn’t be real. Nobody’s eyes were that pretty. Nobody’s, except... “I may have told them that the Dragonborn’s prowess doesn’t stop at slaying dragons. Just to get them to stop asking.”

Evita leaned in. It had been a while, but not so long that she didn’t remember the dance. She brushed a stray bit of hair from where it clung to Susanna’s cheek, her thumb lingering for a second too long. “Well,” she said softly, and watched the way it made goosebumps appear on Susanna’s bare skin. “I’d hate to make a liar out of you.”

 

“Divines,” Susanna gasped, hair sticking to her damp forehead as she propped herself up on her elbows. She was still wearing the dress, but only just. “All nine of them. Did you used to be a priestess of Dibella, by chance?”

“No,” Evita said, and paused long enough to flutter her tongue against Susanna’s clit, earning her another string of blasphemies. “But I used to have a lover who was.”

“ _Gods_. It shows. I, ah… I’m not sure I can come again.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I didn’t say that.”

The floorboards were starting to make her knees ache, but Evita couldn’t find it in herself to care. She’d deal with it later, when she didn’t have someone’s legs over her shoulders. She buried her face between Susanna’s thighs with renewed enthusiasm, and Susanna did have a second one in her, as it turned out; she nearly pulled a chunk of Evita’s hair out when she came. Once she recovered, she insisted on returning the favor, and did some sort of magic with her fingers that nearly made Evita climb the walls when her orgasm bowled her over. At least, she was pretty sure it was magic. It certainly felt like it.

Neither of them was much for cuddling, which was a relief, and Susanna lay sprawled across the sheets, watching Evita dress. Evita glanced at her as she pulled her breeches up. “You alright?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said dreamily, and grinned. “That was lovely.”

“It was.” Evita busied herself with her belt, avoiding Susanna’s eyes. “Thanks. It’s been… well, I needed that.”

“You were awfully wound up,” Susanna agreed. “I know it’s none of my business, but if you want my opinion, I think you should tell her.”

Evita had been buckling her sword back in place, and it slipped from her hands to clatter on the floor. She stooped to grab it, heart pounding. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure.” Susanna smiled at her, flushed and serene. “Evita?”

“What?”

“The only way to get what you want is to be honest about wanting it. Remember that.”

“I’ll remember the night I fucked you into talking nonsense,” Evita said, and came over to kiss the top of her head. “I need to get back.”

“Tell her!” Susanna called as she left the room, closing the door behind her. She shook her head and raked her hair out of her eyes. It was obvious what she’d been doing, but if people were going to gossip either way…

_I think you should tell her._

“No idea what she was talking about,” Evita murmured. Her heart ignored her and kept on beating in her throat, hopeless, three syllables trapped on her tongue.

_Be honest about wanting…_

“No idea,” she said again, unsure of who she was trying to convince.


	5. Hard Up in High Rock: A Guide to Breton Courtship Rituals

Lydia was a light sleeper, but the din outside Breezehome could have roused the dead. She was up in an instant, wearing only her breastband and a pair of linen shorts and groping instinctively for her armor, but there was no time to get dressed.

“Evita!” someone hollered, pounding on the door with both fists like they intended to break it down. At this rate, they were going to wake half the city. “Get your ass out here, Draconis!”

Lydia sighed and grabbed her sword.

She didn’t recognize the woman on the stoop when she opened the door, but that was hardly a surprise. Her Thane spent very little time in Whiterun, and Lydia wasn’t privy to what she got up to in her spare time. Her unwelcome guest was clearly a bandit, as were the two men flanking her, all three of them decked out in bloodstained steel and fur. She was also aggressively ugly – there was really no other word for it – and her expression was nothing short of murderous, which wasn’t helping matters.

“You’re not Evita,” she said.

“Obviously not,” Lydia said, peering at them from behind her shield.

“Where is she?”

“Not here. Who’s asking?”

“A friend,” the woman said, folding her arms. Most people looked better when they smiled, but Lydia wished she would stop. It was painful to watch. “I have something for her, but first, I need to find her.” The men on either side of her nodded. One cracked his knuckles. “If you value your limbs intact, you’ll tell us where she is.”

“Great,” Lydia said. “Good luck with that.” She tried to shut the door, but the woman stuck out an armored foot and blocked it.

“Didn’t you hear me?” she asked, incredulous.

“I did.”

“Obviously not, or you wouldn’t be shutting the door in my face.”

Lydia yawned. “It’s three in the morning. I don’t care what you do, so long as you do it somewhere else.” The bandits just stared at her, and she lowered her shield to rub her tired eyes. _If you kill them, someone will hear, and then you’ll never get back to sleep._ “Fine. You know what? Let me help you out. My Thane spends most of her time in Riften with a woman named Serana. You want to find her, that’s where you should go.”

“I,” the woman started, then stopped. “Huh.”

“What is it now?”

“I gotta be honest, I came here prepared to hurt someone and now I don’t know what to do. Nobody ever just cooperates.”

“You really don’t care that a gang of bandits showed up in the dead of night looking for your Thane?” one of the men asked Lydia. He sounded almost disappointed. She could have sworn the other one was pouting.

“Like I said, good luck. Are we done here?”

“Uh,” the woman said, exchanging glances with her men. “Sure. Yeah. We’re done.”

“Great,” Lydia said, and shut the door in their faces. She could still hear them out there, talking in low voices, but as long as they weren’t bothering anyone, she couldn’t be arsed to deal with them. If this was the company Evita chose to keep, then she could clean up her own mess, whatever it was. The stairs creaked beneath her feet as she climbed, the house easing back into its familiar night-noises now that everything was calm. She passed the smaller room at the top of the landing without a glance, heading for the master bedroom at the end of the hall. From the enormous canopy bed in its center, Athis called out to her, his voice thick with sleep.

“What’d I miss?”

“Nothing important.” She crawled over him to get in the middle, where her still-warm spot waited. On her other side, Uthgerd snored softly, one arm hanging off the bed. “Just some idiots who needed directions.”

 

The letter arrived at Honeyside a few days later, written in a threatening scrawl with blood spattered ‘round its edges. It was mostly insults directed at both Evita and one of her housecarls – some good ones at that, she was definitely using ‘gibbering cockgoblin’ at the earliest opportunity – but the last sentence was the bit that really concerned her.

“’Meet me at Valtheim Towers three days after receiving this, and don’t make me wait, Rigel’. Great.” Evita crumpled up the letter and tossed it aside. “Of course it’s Rigel _fucking_ Strong-Arm. Why not?”

“Who?” Serana asked.

“She’s a… well, ‘friend’ is a strong word. We’ve done business a few times. Ran in the same circles when I first came to Skyrim.”

Serana picked up the crumpled letter and smoothed it out, studying the scrawled letters. “What did you do to make her so mad?”

“Nothing! I haven’t seen her since she left me stranded in a Dwemer ruin near The Pale last year. Was hoping to keep it that way, personally.”

“She did _what_?”

“To be fair, it was probably because I sold her a fake treasure map. But only because she tried to drown me in a swamp for the bounty.” Serana looked at her, eyebrows nearly up to her hairline, and Evita shrugged. “I told you ‘friend’ was a strong word.”

“And you haven’t killed each other… why?”

“Ah, she’s not that bad once you get past the drownings. We’ve helped each other out a few times, too. You just never know which side of her you’re going to get.” She glared at the letter. “I have no idea what she wants this time. Probably a fight to the death or something.”

“Don’t go,” Serana said. She’d been cooler than usual since that night in Windhelm – tired of the perpetual storm cloud of trouble that surrounded their lives, Evita supposed. But concern had shaken her from her funk, and selfishly, Evita wanted to bask in it for a little bit longer. She waited, and Serana folded her arms and looked away. “I just mean that it sounds like a trap.”

“Could be, but I don’t need her showing up here to start trouble. Traps are definitely her thing, though, you should see her hideout…” Evita trailed off, frowning.

“What is it?”

“She wants me to meet her at Valtheim Towers, not Pinewatch. Why wouldn’t she want to fight me on her territory?”

“Maybe she’s got other business out there,” Serana suggested. “Two birds, one stone.” But Evita was already shaking her head.

“That’s not Rigel. Too paranoid. Heard from an old crewmember of hers that she almost never leaves Pinewatch anymore.”

“Forgive me for intruding,” Iona said from the corner where she was doing her cross-stitch, and Evita jumped. She’d forgotten anyone else was in the room – Iona was the quietest of the housecarls assigned to her service. “But I think I might know why.”

“You do?”

“Given recent events, and the growing collection in the basement, it’s probably safe to assume it has something to do with those books you’ve been hunting.” Iona bent her head, copper-bright hair catching the sunlight as she added another tiny stitch to her design. “It’s rare to meet a literate bandit,” she added. “Is she ex-Legion, by chance?”

“Shit.” Evita put her head in her hands. “ _Shit_.”

“Maybe you should sleep with her, too,” Serana said.

 

Valtheim Towers jutted up like twin fangs at the mouth of the White River, weathered and worn but still standing. Evita had done business with the old group of bandits that controlled the roads there once or twice, more out of necessity than anything, but they were gone now. The heads piked at the top of the foremost tower suggested that the exodus wasn’t entirely voluntary. Behind her, Iona made a noise of caution, and Evita looked up to see an archer peering down at her from one of the second floor windows.

“Boss!” he bellowed. “She’s here!”

Evita grimaced. Time to get it over with, then.

She didn’t know what she was expecting when Rigel emerged from the tower, but it wasn’t a smile. She could count the number of times she’d seen Rigel smile on one hand and still have fingers left over. All her fingers.

“So, you finally came.” She towered over Evita, cracking her knuckles. Sunlight glinted off her steel-plate armor. “Thought you were going to make me trek all the way down to Riften to fetch you.”

“No need to make a mess, right?” Evita forced herself to sound light-hearted. She’d never fought Rigel outright, and there were at least a dozen bandits gathering to watch the show. Iona and Serana had insisted on accompanying her, which was something, but she still didn’t like her odds – she’d once watched Rigel feed a man his own stomach, which was exactly as gruesome and baffling as it sounded. “Thought we should just get this over with and move on.”

“Eager, huh?” Rigel smirked. “I like that. Let’s get to it.”

 _So_ , Evita thought as she was led down the sloping, grassy riverbank to stand ankle-deep in muck, _this is how I die_. It was underwhelming at best.

Iona and Serana were forced to hang back, flanked by two armed bandits each. Evita stole a glance at Serana, whose mouth was set into a furious line below her hood. If she somehow survived this encounter, she’d let Serana yell at her every day for the rest of her life. She wouldn't even complain (that much). And then she’d say something devastatingly clever, and Serana would laugh despite herself, and then –

“Oi! Pay attention,” Rigel said, and her cuirass hit the ground at her feet.

_Her what?_

Evita looked at the cuirass, then back at Rigel, who had stripped down to her breastband and was wrestling with her greaves. “What the actual fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I thought you said you wanted to get on with it.” Rigel managed to get the greaves off in record time, and there she was in her boots and smallclothes, looking at Evita like _she_ was the idiot. “You’re the one who’s taking forever.”

“None of that explains why you’re naked!”

“I’m not,” Rigel said, and snapped the tie on her smalls. “Could be pretty soon, though, if you play your cards right.”

“I – what?”

“I mean, I didn’t take you for the type to like an audience, but I’m game if you are.”

Evita put her hands out to ward off Rigel as she advanced, shaking her head. Maybe she’d already died and her spirit had slipped into another plane of existence altogether. That would explain a few things. “I,” she said, with all the dignity she could muster, “have _no fucking clue_ what you’re talking about.”

Rigel halted, affront scrawled all over her face. “What do you mean, you don’t know what I’m talking about? You’re the reason I’m doing this!”

“Doing what, fighting me to the death? I haven’t seen you in a year! What could I possibly have done?”

Silence descended on the slope. Rigel blinked at her owlishly, looking as lost as Evita felt.

“I’m not tryin’ to kill you,” she said. “I’m just tryin’ to prove that I’m good enough to marry you, like the book said.”

“The book said what now?”

“The book you wrote on Breton courtship rituals?” Rigel supplied. “Thought you were finally done playing hard to get, giving me instructions and all, but I guess not… or is this part of the whole thing?” She cocked her head, frowning. “Are you fucking with me?”

Evita laughed.

She couldn’t help it – it came bursting out of her with all the grace of a braying mule, startling a pair of nearby rabbits into fleeing the scene. “ _Breton courtship rituals_?”

Rigel flushed all the way to the tips of her ears. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“That you think I’m going to marry you, you lunatic!”

In retrospect, she decided in the half-second before Rigel’s fist collided with her face, she could have handled that better.

 

“So,” Rigel said some time later, straddling Evita in the shallows. “You don’t want to marry me, and you definitely didn’t write a book telling me that you’d agree to marry me if I beat you in a fight and got you a big fancy present?”

“I did not, no.”

Rigel actually looked disappointed – crushed, even, which was the best word to describe the state of Evita’s nose and what felt like a few of her ribs. Both of them were drenched and smeared with mud, hair plastered to their skulls. She shoved at Rigel to get off and climbed to her feet, one hand cupping the lower half of her face protectively. Hopefully Iona had thought to bring along a healing potion or two.

“Didn’t think you liked books,” Rigel muttered, more to herself than Evita. “Guess I should have listened. I just thought maybe you were coming around.”

“Coming around on what?” Evita asked through her fingers. “All those times you tried to kill and-or maim me? You’re right. I’ve never been more aroused.”

“Shut up,” Rigel said, turning red again. Evita took a couple steps back, just in case. “I was never really tryin’ to kill you.”

“So, what, you were flirting with me? Is that what you think flirting is?”

“Well, yeah,” Rigel said, like it was obvious. “It was just one of those whatchamacallits… a battle of wits.”

“That’s – “ Evita took a deep breath and looked skyward. “That’s not how that works. At all. Ever.”

“Then why was there so much sexual tension?”

“That wasn’t sexual tension! That was regular tension! Because you were _drowning me in the swamp_!”

Laughter broke out from the bank. Both Evita and Rigel looked to see Iona and the bandits attempting to smother their cackling, leaning on each other and covering their mouths. Even Serana was fighting off a smile.

“It’s not funny!” Evita yelled. A few more guffaws slipped loose.

“And after I got you this place as a wedding present,” Rigel said, ignoring all of them in favor of sulking at Evita. Even her sulking was terrifying. “Cleaned it up and got rid of the corpses and everything. Do you know how far this is from Pinewatch?”

“Maybe you should have waited until she said yes,” one of the bandits called out from where he was hidden behind his fellows, and the group imploded with laughter all over again. Iona had to sit down on the grass, near to tears. Serana turned away, hood drawn low and shoulders shaking.

“I fucking hate all of you,” Evita said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of love Rigel Strong-Arm despite myself, and thus, she must suffer as I have suffered writing this.


	6. A Night in the Woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter feat. everyone's favorite medieval meathead.

_21st of Mid-Year, 4E201_

...

“It’s finally gone, thank the gods.”

“I hope so.” I snuck a glance at the Stormcloak crouching next to me. Handsome in a rough way, with chiseled features and dirty blond hair. I’d been too preoccupied to notice until now, what with the ‘almost dying’ nonsense and everything. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Ralof. Ralof of Riverwood.”

“Evita Draconis.” We clasped hands. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Any enemy of the Imperials is a friend of mine.” Our hands were still entwined, and he pulled me to my feet. “What will you do now that you’re free, Evita Draconis?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” I admitted, and he laughed heartily.

“That’s fair enough. Why don’t you come to Riverwood with me, then? It’ll be a more pleasant trip with company.”

“How far is it from here?”

“Not far at all. We just follow the river.” He pointed east. “My sister’s the hetwoman. She and her husband can put us up for the night.”

“You all would really do that for me?”

“The Imperials will be searching the roads for escaped prisoners. It’s best to lay low for a couple of days. And like I said.” He winked. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Who was I to refuse such generosity? We carried on to Riverwood, which was half a day’s walk from the cave, and encountered no trouble, save a pair of starving timberwolves. We kept the pelts for Ralof’s sister Gerdur, as a gift for her hospitality. She and her husband Hod ran both the town and the mill that sustained it, and they were so relieved to see Ralof alive that they accepted me without question. After dinner, Hod dragged a couple of pallets and furs down to the cellar (we all agreed it was safer, in case the Imperials came knocking), and Gerdur brought us a spare lantern when she came to bid us goodnight. She shut the trapdoor, and then it was just the two of us, alone in the dark with the lamplight flickering gently overhead. Nightingales cooed outside, joined in by the soft shushing of the river.

“Where will you go now?” I asked him.

“Once it’s safe to leave, back to Windhelm. Ulfric will have orders for me.” He rolled onto his side. “You should come with me. We could always use people who know what they’re doing.”

“I promised your sister I’d go to Whiterun, remember? I have to warn your Jarl about the dragon.”

“After that, then.”

“Do you really need soldiers that badly?”

“Soldiers who survived a dragon attack?” He shone where the fire caught him, bright teeth and blond hair, and my heart skipped, pattering rabbit-fast. “Absolutely.”

I had no intention of joining the Stormcloaks, but I knew for certain then that I wanted him in my bed – or straw pallet, as the case may have been. The only question was how to get him there. I drew my furs up around myself, pretending to shiver.

“It’s a little cold, isn’t it?”

He looked at me, confused. “It’s summer.”

“Cold down here, I mean. In this cellar.” I looked at him from beneath my lashes, hoping he’d pick up on the hint, but his expression remained puzzled. I stifled a sigh. “Do you want to come warm me up?”

“The furs – “

“With your cock, Ralof.”

That, he got. We spent some time rolling around on the furs, his mouth hot on mine as we took turns undressing one another, and he looked just as good out of his clothes as he had in them. He was clearly used to being the one who initiated everything, and I like to think our encounter was a pleasant surprise, since he was more than happy to lay back and let me take the lead. I’ve always liked a man who didn’t need to pretend he was in control every second of the day. And being tired hadn’t sapped his enthusiasm a bit. Within a few minutes of my leggings coming off, I was sitting astride his face, wrist between my teeth to muffle any sound that might escape while he tongued my clit, hands gripping the backs of my thighs. A much better use for his mouth than talking – I think we both agreed on that front, since he wouldn’t let me down until I’d come at least twice. That was twice more than half the men I’d been with had managed, so I wasn’t complaining.

Afterwards, he stroked himself while I watched, until the tingling between my legs and the buzzing in my head calmed enough to let him touch me again, and then his hands were on my hips, guiding me on top of him. We were both still tired from the events of the day, muscles sore, and I rode him slow and lazy until my thighs ached and he was thrusting up into me, biting his lip as he came. The look on his face made me wish I could go a third time.

True, he wanted to cuddle afterwards, and he snored the rest of the night, but well worth the price for a lay like that…

_-  Excerpt from E. Draconis’s “A Night in the Woods: My Welcome to Skyrim”_

**oOo**

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m flattered.” Ralof slapped her on the back with one meaty hand, good-natured as ever. She staggered under its weight. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here to get your diary back. I was just waiting on the courier.”

“It’s no trouble,” Evita mumbled. She’d already decided that trying to explain that it wasn’t her diary was more trouble than it was worth. A good friend, Ralof, but he wasn’t exactly the brightest torchbug in the meadow. Chivalrous, though – he’d only read part of the text before realizing what it was about and declining to read further. Small mercies.

“How did you lose it all the way out here, anyway? I thought you were in Riften.”

“A… bandit stole my pack. I’ve been trying to retrieve all sorts of things.” The last bit wasn’t technically a lie. Ralof just nodded, sage, as if roving bandits dropped off diaries in his tent all the time.

“Well, I’m glad you got it back. And listen, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings just now.”

It took every ounce of her willpower not to laugh. “I’m fine, Ralof. Really.”

“It’s nothing against you.” They were standing at the edge of the camp, far from prying eyes, but a couple of the bolder Stormcloaks were wandering closer, trying their best to look like they weren’t eavesdropping.  “You’re just not my usual type.”

“Got it,” Evita said.

“Women like Sigrid, or Mjoll, or Lydia,” he went on. “You know. Really tall, beautiful women, big tits, arse that could crack an acorn. That sort of thing.”

“Ralof?”

“Yeah?”

“I got it.”


	7. Poison Apple Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, and neither is this story. No smut this time, but don't worry, there will be plenty next chapter to make up for it.

For the next few weeks there was nothing, and cautiously, Evita allowed herself to relax. Maybe the faceless author had finally tired of tormenting her and moved on to a different target. There were only so many things to be said about her (almost non-existent) sex life. In the meantime, the Dawnguard reached out to them with a new contract: a vampire clan outside Morthal had violated the pact struck upon Harkon’s defeat by attacking a human settlement, and now they needed to be put down. They accepted, Serana on principle and Evita out of general boredom.

“We already prevented all-out war with humanity once,” Serana hissed when she heard the news, eyes flashing red. “Does the threat of extinction mean nothing to these fools?”

A vampire who hunted rogue vampires, now _there_ was a proper tale. Full of blood and guts and glory, the way stories ought to be, and instead some anonymous twat wanted to write about the Dragonborn rubbing bits with half the province. _Honestly_.

Morthal was simple enough – the vampires were feral, half-starved things who needed to sleep during the day, and a quick blade through the heart sent them to their eternal rest – and the village elders expressed their gratitude with coin, which was always welcome. There was nothing to report upon their return to Honeyside, aside from an unfamiliar pair of boots by the hearth that mysteriously disappeared the morning after Evita pointed them out (Iona had clearly taken advantage of having the place to herself). Autumn settled over the Rift, tranquil and golden, and no more manuscripts arrived on the porch to disturb them. Relaxation grew into hope. Maybe she really had weathered the storm. Maybe it really was over.

That was the problem with hope, she would bitterly recount later, when all was said and done. It turned you into a damn fool.

 

“Armor for sale, weapons and armor!”

Grelka’s nasal bellow could be heard from the town square to the Velothi Mountains, and she’d been making everyone’s ears bleed with the same old pitch for the last five years. “Want to stay alive? Buy armor from Grelka!”

She was joined by the others in a familiar chorus: Madesi’s hoarse, sinuous promises of genuine Saxhleel jewelry; Brand-Shei’s croon of _imported goods, straight from Morrowind_ ; Balimund’s gruff bark and Brynjolf’s honeyed drawl. Riften’s cozy little marketplace was a great deal less impressive than Whiterun’s sprawling hub, but Evita preferred it that way. It was familiar, and being closer to the border brought in more goods from High Rock and Hammerfell, the tastes and smells of her youth flooding the city whenever the Khajiit caravans came through. She’d given in and bought a tin of lavender candies imported from Wayrest, and was sucking on one now while she perused Brand-Shei’s wares, debating if she should buy Serana another pair of shoes.

That was another thing, the shoes. She didn’t wear all of them, just collected them in neat rows along the bottom of her chest and wardrobe. Something to do with a compulsion to gather things in pairs – shoes had been popular among her clan, along with earrings, gloves and eyeballs. Evita had decided that the ever-growing collection of shoes in the basement wasn’t so bad, all things considered, and that vampires were far stranger than anyone gave them credit for. Still, if it was shoes Serana wanted, then shoes she would have.

“What about those?”

“These? A little something I picked up from a trader based out of the Illiac. Lovely, aren’t they?”

They _were_ lovely, she had to admit, taking them from Brand-Shei for closer inspection. Delicate, strappy things with a raised heel, dyed deep crimson and the buckle inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and tiny seed pearls scattered along the ties like raindrops. Evita wasn’t much for finery, but Serana was, and she was in the middle of trying to haggle him down another fifty septims when his glittering eyes flicked to the side.

“Don’t look now,” he said through his teeth, smile straining, “but Maven’s headed this way.”

Evita nearly dropped the shoes, fumbling in her haste to give them back. “Shit. Keep these for me, will you? I’ll come back tomorrow. First thing, soon as you open, alright?” Brand-Shei nodded, scooping them up, but any reply he might have given was lost to the shadow falling across his stall.

“Dragonborn. A word.”

Like anyone who spent a significant amount of time in Riften, Evita had crossed paths with Maven Black-Briar. It wasn’t an experience she wanted to repeat, and the simmering fury in Maven’s voice promised nothing good. She turned, doing her best to keep her expression neutral.

“Maven. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Let’s not waste time with pleasantries, shall we?” Maven flicked some imaginary dirt from one of her sleeves. She was flanked by three of her mercenaries and Maul, her ever-vigilant right hand; everyone pretended not to notice them, but gave them a wide berth. All four of them were hulking, well-armed warriors, but the Black-Briar matriarch was the one who radiated danger, from the top of her well-groomed head to the tip of her expensive doeskin boots. Expensive, but modest. No needless flash or frills for her, not when she already held Riften in the palm of her hand. “You know perfectly well why I’m here.”

Evita thought about it. The only thing she could come up with was the time she’d caught Romlyn Dreth selling Black-Briar Reserve on the side for a profit and convinced him to deal her a cut, but Maven didn’t know about that. At least, Evita was assuming she didn’t know, since they were both still alive.

“With all due respect,” she said, “if I knew why you were here, I wouldn’t be asking.”

Maven’s eyes narrowed. “Odd,” she said, “that you should speak of respect.” She moved like a sabrecat, all sinuous grace; Evita willed herself not to flinch as she prowled closer, close enough that her perfume tickled Evita’s nostrils. She smelled like nightshade, death masked by sweetness. “If you _ever_ ,” she murmured, “come near my daughter again, there won’t be enough of you left to hold a quill, let alone write that filth you call poetry. Do I make myself clear?”

“Poetry,” Evita said, dumbfounded, and Maven’s lip curled.

“I don’t like repeating myself, Dragonborn.”

“Hold on. I don’t know what you think you saw, or read, but – “

“Tell me something.” Maven tilted her head, dark hair brushing her cheek. She sounded inquisitive, almost gentle. A shudder crawled down Evita’s spine. “Do you take me for a fool? Be honest.”

“Not at all.”

“Then don’t try to play me for one.” With that, Maven gave her entourage a nod, and they closed ranks around her once more. She paused long enough to give Evita a final, cold glance. “Stay away from Ingun. I won’t tell you again.”

She swept away with her men at her heels, and Evita watched her go, numb. Insects droned in the distance. All around her, people whispered behind their hands, eyes lingering. _I will find you,_ she promised the anonymous author silently. _And when I do, you’ll **beg** for the Soul Cairn._ Behind her, Brand-Shei cleared his throat, and gave her a little tap on the shoulder.

“So, ah… will you still be wanting those shoes?”

 

“We have a problem.”

Serana looked up from where she was reorganizing the shoe collection in her wardrobe, eyebrows raised. “’We’?"

“Yes, ‘we’. You know why? Because my problem will _very quickly_ become your problem if Maven Black-Briar finds out I have a vampire living in my fucking basement!”

“Maven Bl – what did you do now?”

“Nothing! She cornered me in the marketplace and threatened to have me offed if I came near her daughter, which is a fucking laugh, considering I’ve done nothing but try to avoid her entire family since I moved here.” Evita took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. “Said something about not being able to write any more poetry.”

“Another book, then.” Serana shut the wardrobe doors, lips thinning. “I was wondering when one would show up.”

“ _Poetry,_ ” Evita despaired. “They might as well have me drawn and quartered.”

“Yes, the two are definitely comparable,” Serana said. “I take it she didn’t have the book with her?”

“No, and I don’t think she’d give it to me if I asked.”

“What about the Guild?”

Evita snorted. “Even if I could convince them to cross Maven, they’re a bunch of nosy fucks. If they find out what it is, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Serana considered for a moment, arms crossed, then nodded, more to herself than Evita. “Alright. I’ll get the book for you.”

“You will?”

“You said it yourself. The last thing either of us need is Maven poking around. Besides, I don’t need a potion to become invisible.” She smiled, eyes glowing faintly. “Just give me a day or two to figure out the details.”

Evita could have kissed her. She exhaled instead, rubbing the back of her neck. “Fuck. Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Two, actually,” Serana said. “I could do with a new pair of shoes.”

 

Dinner was a quiet affair, all three women lost in their own thoughts. Iona had made roast goat, Evita’s favorite, but even that did little to distract her from the problem at hand. She trusted Serana, but not being in control of the situation itched at her. There were too many things that could go wrong, and no accounting for all of them. She tore another strip of meat off the bone. Across the table, Iona cleared her throat.

“My Thane?”

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering if you had need of me over the next few days.”

Evita shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t think so. Why?”

“I have plans on Fredas.” Iona’s pale cheeks glowed pink in the candlelight. “Overnight. If you don’t mind.”

 _Interesting._ Evita sipped her ale, and took no small pleasure in watching her housecarl squirm – she hadn’t completely forgiven Iona for laughing at her during the Rigel debacle. The silence stretched out to interminable lengths, and Serana looked between them, eyebrows arched. “Nah, I don’t care,” Evita said finally, taking pity. Iona’s face was nearly as red as her hair by then. “Take as much time as you want.”

“Thank you, my Thane,” Iona said, fumbling with her napkin, and no more was said on the subject until later, when Evita and Serana sat on the porch playing dice while the night-birds cooed. The sun had set hours ago, but the air was still warm, lake water sloshing peacefully on the shore below.

“I wonder who she’s seeing.”

Evita shrugged, irritated. She was always irritated when it came to playing dice with Serana. Mostly because Serana was better at it than she was. “Who gives a fuck? It’s her business.”

“Just curious. She clearly doesn’t want us knowing.” Carved bone clacked in Serana’s palm. “Not that I blame her.”

Evita couldn’t say she did either, since she planned to tease Iona for at least a month if she ever found out. “As long as it’s not a Black-Briar, I don’t care who it is. ‘bout time she got laid if you ask me.”

Serana rolled her eyes. “Speaking of the Black-Briars, I think it’s best if you send Iona to the alchemist’s from now on. You don’t want to give Maven any excuses.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Evita scooped up the dice, turning them aimlessly between her fingers. “She never did like me.”

“Do you want her to like you?”

“Fair point.” She eyed Serana from across the table. “Are you sure about this? If you get caught – “

“I won’t.” Serana propped her chin in her hands. “Stop worrying so much, alright? It’s just fetching a book. We’ve done it before.”

It wasn’t the book Evita was worried about. “Yeah,” she said, and sipped her ale. “I guess you’re right.”

 

The rest of the week dragged on, uneventful but no less tense for it. Evita did her best to avoid both Maven and Ingun, though it was easier said than done; she liked drinking in the Bee & Barb, and her line of work necessitated a steady stream of potions. To make matters worse, Ingun seemed to be there every time she turned a corner, scribbling in her workbook or tending to the deathbell plants that bloomed in the cemetery. This was alarming enough on its own, but then they ran into each other in the square on Middas, and Ingun _smiled_ at her. Evita spent the rest of the afternoon locked in the basement, pretending to reorganizing the armory. Neither Iona nor Serana was fooled, but they both had the good sense not to say anything.

Fredas arrived, and evening found her pacing in the living room, tankard in hand. Iona had left that afternoon, and Serana was up as soon as the sun went down, assuring Evita she’d be back before morning. With nothing else to do, she’d built a fire in the hearth and toasted some bread and cheese, neither of which calmed her nerves. The ale did, though. She poured herself a second when the first was gone and resumed pacing, lost in thought. If worst came to worst, where would they go? Whiterun would be the obvious option, but Breezehome was too cramped for herself, Serana and two housecarls, and she knew full well Lydia tolerated her at best. Solitude would make the most sense, since Proudspire was enormous, but she hated Solitude, and after the last time she’d seen Elisif –

No. She’d go to Markarth. Vlindrel Hall was plenty big, and Argis didn’t seem to mind her, unlike Lydia or Jordis. That, and she’d be as far away from Maven as possible. _There._ She took a drink, satisfied. A half-assed plan was better than no plan.

“Oh,” said someone from behind her. “Isn’t this cozy?"

Evita didn’t scream, exactly, but the noise that slipped out was akin to a cat whose tail had been trod on. She had her dagger out before she even turned all the way around, and Ingun smiled at her as she shut the door.

“Hello.” Her usual alchemist gear was missing, apron and gloves replaced with burnt orange finery, the same shade as the changing leaves. “I like your house. It’s very quaint.”

Evita’s grip tightened around the dagger’s hilt. “How did you get in here?”

“Your door was unlocked,” Ingun said.

“Oh.” Evita lowered the dagger, then reconsidered and raised it again. “What do you want?”

“You can put that away. I’m just here to talk.” Unperturbed, Ingun stepped forward, into the light. There was a book tucked into the crook of her elbow, and the gilt on its bindings gleamed. “And to thank you for the gift.”

 _Shit._ “Yeah, about that – “

“I thought they were lovely. Mother disagreed when she found them, but she’s never had much of an eye for the arts.” She flipped the book open, running a finger down the page. “I especially liked this one. ‘I dip my fingers into the blood of your secrets/and bite into your poison apple kiss’.” Her lips curled into a sly little smile. “I almost have the whole thing memorized.”

“Glad you liked it,” Evita said warily, sheathing her dagger. “You really shouldn’t be here, Ingun.”

“Oh, because of Mother? Don’t worry, she won’t find out.” Ingun shut the book with a snap and placed it on the table, one hand resting on its cover. “At least, she doesn’t have to.”

Evita’s skin prickled.

“You see, something told me you might want this back,” Ingun went on, and Evita retreated as she came forward, dark eyes feverish in the firelight. “Since Mother took such a negative view of the gesture, I’m more than happy to let you keep it… on one condition, of course.”

“Of course,” Evita said as they circled each around the hearth, keeping the armchair between them. “And that condition would be…”

“She controls every aspect of my life. All I have are my experiments and my lessons with Master Elgrim, and she only lets me have those so she can take them away if I displease her.” Evita made a break for the table, but Ingun cut her off before she could get to the book, backing her up against the tapestry hanging by the alcove. “I could be so much more than a merchant, if she’d let me. But I’ll settle for a taste of something she can’t control.” She reached out to touch, but Evita grabbed her wrist. Her skin was cold. Her eyes glittered. “Knowing that she’d be furious if she knew we’d lain together, and keeping it from her… it’d be _delicious_. Don’t you think?”

“That isn’t the word I’d use, exactly,” Evita said, dodging away. “You’re aware that she threatened to turn me into mincemeat if I went anywhere near you, right?”

“I know,” Ingun said, following her. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use, either.” The backs of Evita’s knees collided with her chair. Before she could regain her balance, Ingun put both hands on her shoulders and pushed. She sat down hard. “Hey!”

“I don’t know why you’re still playing hard to get,” Ingun purred, straddling her lap. She was stronger than she looked. “Not after what you wrote.”

“I believe in courtship?” Evita offered weakly. _Maybe I could tie her up? No, she’d probably like that. Fuck. Markarth, here I come._ “Look, I’m flattered and everything, but there’s something you should – “

“Enough talk.” Ingun learned in, her nose brushing Evita’s. Her hair smelled like deathbell. “Let’s send my mother to an early grave.”

The vase Iona had filled with flowers before she left was sitting just out of arm’s reach, on the end table. Evita made a grab for it. Whether she was going to dump the water over Ingun’s head or knock her out with the vase itself, she wasn’t sure, but before she even got a hand on it, the front door flew open. Ingun let out an offended yowl as she was seized and dragged out of Evita’s lap, kicking and clawing. Serana shook her by the scruff of the neck like a cat with a disobedient kitten, like she weighed nothing at all. Her boots were barely touching the floor.

“ _Stop_ ,” she snarled, her voice rending the air, and Ingun went limp, eyes glazing over. “What do you think you’re doing?” No answer. Red light flickered around her hands, bright as rubies. “ _Answer me_.”

“Seducing the Dragonborn,” Ingun said, sounding far away. “She wrote me poetry.”

“It wasn’t working,” Evita added. “For the record.”

“The book,” Serana said, releasing her. Ingun went to the dining table and retrieved it, staring vacantly at nothing. One of her eyes had drifted off to the side. Serana flipped through it, shaking her head, then slammed the cover shut. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to go home, get into your bed, and stay there until morning. You won’t remember any of this, and you won’t bother either of us again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Good.” Serana pointed at the door, which gaped at them like a startled onlooker. “Go.”

Ingun went, dazed, and the darkness swallowed her up. Serana shut the door, eyes fading from red back to gold as she slid the deadbolt shut, and only then did she look at Evita, brow wrinkled. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was handling it.” Pause. “But thank you.”

“She’s lucky I didn’t rip her throat out.”

“No, _I’m_ lucky you didn’t.” Evita rubbed her own throat unconsciously. “I don’t want to live in Markarth.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” She exhaled. “I almost feel bad for her.”

Serana looked at her askance. “Why?”

“That book had her dead convinced that I wanted her. Her seduction technique needs some work, though. Less talking about her mother.”

“And I thought my family was screwed up,” Serana said. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“I’m _fine_. Seriously. Nothing happened.”

Serana still looked unconvinced, but she nodded all the same, holding up the book. “I’ll go put this one with the others, then.”

“Gods, please. Take it away.” Evita pinched the bridge of her nose, where a headache was gathering. “ _Poetry_.”

Serana disappeared into the basement, putting a tentative hand on Evita’s shoulder as she passed by. Evita stayed where she was, staring off into space. She put her hand where the phantom imprint of Serana’s palm lingered, warm even through her shirt. Below, there came the sound of creaking hinges and doors opening, followed by silence.

“Evita?”

“Hmm.”

There was a pause. “Are… are these new shoes for me?”

“Well, they’re definitely not for me.”

Another pause, longer this time. Evita drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair. Strange, how a few seconds could feel like a lifetime.

“Thank you,” came the reply, so soft she could barely make it out. “They’re beautiful.”

Evita slouched down in her chair, grinning. She was glad Serana couldn’t see her.

“It’s no big deal,” she called back. “I owed you one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Evita is not the Dragonborn in most of my story canon, but she fits the role pretty well here. I've been thinking about filling this prompt and writing something a little less serious for a minute now, so I thought I'd dust her off and give it a spin.


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